An Unspoken Conversation
by EstelRaca
Summary: Courfeyrac teaches Enjolras to dance. A one-shot prequel for "To Follow", written for ColonelDespard as thanks for an amazing piece of fanart.


**Author's Note:** This was written as a gift for ColonelDespard after they drew an absolutely amazing picture to go with my story "To Follow". This is set in the same universe as "To Follow", as a prequel, though there's certainly no need to read that story to understand this one. The picture can be found at coloneldespard dot deviantart dot com/art/LastDance-348455752 and is absolutely stunning.

_An Unspoken Conversation_

"What are you doing Friday evening?"

Enjolras blinks, his attention wrenched away from the article that he's attempting to finish. Setting his pen down on the desk, he turns in his chair so that he's facing Courfeyrac. It could just be an innocent query, but questions like this are rarely innocent from Courfeyrac. "Why?"

Courfeyrac is sprawled across Enjolras' bed, books scattered around him, a piece of blank paper in front of him. He had been ostensibly working on an essay, but words seem to have eluded him. Propping his head on his fist, Courfeyrac grins at Enjolras. "No. I started the interrogation. You don't get to cross-examine me until you've properly answered the question."

"Or I could refuse to be a part of the interrogation entirely." Enjolras sighs as Courfeyrac's smile fades. Then a slight smile plays at the edges of his own mouth as he considers possible answers. "I have class Friday afternoon."

"I do, too. The same class, even, and I am infinitely grateful to be in it with you. I fear I would spend a great deal more time either vying with Morpheus or fuming in indignation if you weren't there to liven things up." Courfeyrac sits up, shifting his books around as he does, collecting them into a neat stack. "That's Friday afternoon, though. What about the evening?"

Enjolras' smile grows as he takes in Courfeyrac's glee and dogged determination. "Saturday morning I'm meeting with Duchamps. We might be able to acquire a fair number of weapons through him."

"Right." Courfeyrac stills, determination flooding his features as his smile fades a bit. "That's the meeting you're taking Bahorel to, correct?"

"It's more that Bahorel is taking me to the meeting. Bahorel's been involved with Duchamps' group on and off for the last few months, and thought it would make a good alliance for Les Amis." Anyone who thinks they can help Les Amis get their hands on weapons and ammunition on a semi-regular basis is someone Enjolras would very much like to meet.

"And then Sunday you and Combeferre are meeting Renault about the printing press. It's going to be a busy weekend for us." Courfeyrac grins again, that quick, easy smile of his. "I feel like I need to give you a political engagement now, to keep up with the work the others are doing."

Enjolras relaxes a bit, pleased to have distracted Courfeyrac from whatever other plans he was considering. "You introduced Bahorel and I, so if you wish you can take partial credit for Saturday's activities."

"Oh, no need. I'm sure I'll find someone fascinating and revolutionary to introduce you to in the near future." Courfeyrac's eyes narrow, though his grin only widens. "I am not, however, going to be so easily distracted. Now, we've covered your social calendar for Friday afternoon, Saturday, and Sunday. What we haven't covered is what you'll be doing Friday evening."

"I currently have no plans, aside from the usual—my writing, reading others' work, coming up with responses." Enjolras sighs. "I suspect you have a different sort of engagement in mind for me, however."

"I do indeed." A serious edge softens the grin on Courfeyrac's face. "There's going to be a dance at Emile's Friday evening. Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet will be there, as well as myself, and we would very much like you to accompany us."

Enjolras shakes his head. "Courfeyrac, I don't think you really want me to come dancing."

"Of course we do!" Courfeyrac seems almost scandalized as he shifts so that he's perched on the edge of the bed, staring at Enjolras with earnest honesty. "We enjoy spending time with you, Enjolras. And while planning the revolution is all well and good, it's nice to see you when talk of guns and illegal printing presses isn't foremost."

"We also talk of laws and right and—"

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac's cry is lovingly exasperated. "We want to spend some time with _you_, not the revolution."

And that is the core of the problem. Enjolras doesn't even try to force a smile as he meets Courfeyrac's gaze evenly. "The revolution is who I _am_, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac's body stills again, his expression troubled and distant. After a few second's contemplation he shakes his head, sending his hair flying, and a fond, bright smile lights his face again. "You are the revolution. We all are, a bit, but you more than most of us, true. But you are also a man, a handsome, kind man, and you are our friend. And we would like you to come dancing with us."

Enjolras hesitates. He doesn't mind spending time with the others, not really, though sometimes watching Courfeyrac try to entice him to attend is far more enjoyable than actually attending one of the events. But dancing… "You're certain there's nothing else you'd prefer I do with you?"

"Well, you're certainly quite welcome to come to the opera with us next Wednesday, as well, but since you spent the majority of our last trip there looking alternately bored, angry and miserable, I think dancing may be a better alternative."

Sighing, Enjolras finds his gaze dropping away from Courfeyrac's. "That's likely because you haven't seen me dance."

A disbelieving laugh is Courfeyrac's response. "I watch you move. I've seen you fight. I refuse to believe you are anything but an elegant dancer."

"You can refuse to believe it, but that won't make it less true." Enjolras shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't been dancing in… oh, four, five years, and when last I was dancing I wasn't particularly adept at it."

"How?" Courfeyrac stares at him, gape-mouthed. "How have you managed to go years without dancing?"

"I was just starting to think that perhaps I might enjoy large gatherings when my father forbade me from attending any." A slight, bitter smile graces his lips as Enjolras remembers the argument. "I decided rather quickly that there were far better things I could spend my time on, far more interesting events I could host or be invited to, and dancing mysteriously disappeared from my lessons. As did the vast majority of history and political theory, though I had already studied far more on my own than my father wished for me to know. I believe the first was meant to be my punishment; the latter was a much more annoying one, however."

"Ah." Courfeyrac inclines his head, his hair hanging forward to block his eyes for a moment. When he raises his head, the smile on his face has faded, replaced by compassionate understanding. "Would I be correct in thinking this was around the time that you began using the word _citizen_ in earnest?"

"Certainly not incorrect." Enjolras shrugs again. "It was one of the worst arguments we've had. It was also when he began to truly understand how I view the world, and I think I frightened him. But I seem to have managed to successfully avoid dancing since then, though I don't believe I ever truly intended to."

If those at the party weren't interested in talking with him about politics, he certainly wasn't interested in their compliments on his hair or eyes or clothing. And he was even less interested in the way they always seemed to try to touch him when dancing, or shy away from him and avoid all contact, but never to simply stay properly within their designated space while he guided the motions. Those few times he's made an appearance at social gatherings, he's tended to gravitate to the wall, to the corners, to those who are discussing the current events of the time, avoiding anyone who might try to take his hand and lead him onto the dance floor.

"Well, then. I'm sure you're dreadfully out of practice, and likely haven't seen any of the variations that have become popular recently." Courfeyrac stands, glancing around the room. Before Enjolras can ask him what he's doing, Courfeyrac has moved those books that had crept from Enjolras' desk and shelves onto the floor up onto the bed, placed those few articles of clothing that have escaped onto the floor of the room onto the floor of the wardrobe, and shifted the wardrobe into the corner. Standing, Courfeyrac surveys his work and nods, clearly pleased. "There. It's a good thing you live like a Spartan, my friend. You may not have the largest quarters, but we can make space enough if we need to. Now, do you want to lead or follow for the first part of this lesson?"

"Courfeyrac…" Enjolras doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or sigh. "I would prefer not to dance."

"You're really going to forego our company because you're afraid of a little dancing?" After a moment Courfeyrac's shoulders slump and he turns away. "Well, then. If you truly don't want to come with us…"

"Why do I need to dance if I come?" He's agreeing to come. This means that Courfeyrac's already won. "I can simply have a drink and watch you enjoy yourselves. I can even promise not to speak too harshly to anyone if you wish, though I suspect there will be many there who deserve a few harsh words."

"I would say that keeping yourself aloof is cruel to the female half of the population, but I suspect I wouldn't get very far with that argument." Courfeyrac's grinning again as he turns back, walking to Enjolras' side and holding out a hand. "So how about this. When we succeed with our revolution, we will need to be able to talk with diplomats and politicians in formal settings. It may be imperative that you know how to dance at some point in order to not give insult."

"You're really stretching credibility with that argument."

"Perhaps." There's no apology in Courfeyrac's grin as he continues to hold out his hand to Enjolras. "But I also think that it's something you'll enjoy. You enjoy sparring. You're comfortable in your body. You'll enjoy dancing. Now, would you consent to give me this dance?"

"I don't know, citizen." Enjolras places his hand in Courfeyrac's and stands, pushing his chair in to give them more space as Courfeyrac guides him into the middle of the cleared room. "Does giving you this dance mean that I have to dance on Friday?"

"Mm… we'll see." Courfeyrac takes Enjolras' left hand and places it on Courfeyrac's waist, just above his hip. Courfeyrac's right hand rises to rest on Enjolras' left shoulder, and the fingers of Courfeyrac's left hand twine with those of Enjolras' right hand.

It's a position that he hasn't been in for several years. It's one that he had come to associate with being uncomfortable, with being either pawed at or rejected, but with Courfeyrac…

"Now, had your lessons covered a version or two of the waltz, or was it still considered too scandalous?" Courfeyrac's grin as he says scandalous is far too wide.

"I don't know." Enjolras gazes across the perfectly appropriate space that Courfeyrac has left between them. "I've had other things that required my memory and attention far more."

"Well, I shall either refresh your memory or help you to create better ones." Courfeyrac has taken the woman's role, but it's his gentle tugs on Enjolras' hand and shoulder that truly lead the dance. "This is a three-four time step, and once you learn the steps you will be the guide. Now, step forward, then back and pivot, rest, then forward, then forward-pivot, rest, forward, back-pivot… ah, this might be easier if I lead."

"Please." Enjolras allows Courfeyrac to rearrange their arms, frowning down at the other man's feet as he attempts to follow the steps.

It's easier to pick up the moves with Courfeyrac leading and counting, and within five minutes Enjolras is fairly confident that he knows the basic steps. Courfeyrac picks up the pace, changes from counting and instructing to humming a tune that Enjolras doesn't recognize, and it's actually quite pleasant.

"There. Much better." Courfeyrac's grin is the brightness of an early dawn, radiant and pristine. "Now, let's take this from the top. I am a beautiful maiden, who has most likely been pointed out to you by either Bossuet or myself, and you have reluctantly agreed to ask me to dance."

Courfeyrac pulls away from him, stands with his hands folded demurely in front of him and his eyes downcast.

Frowning, Enjolras hesitates. He's not sure he likes this play-acting. Perhaps it would be better if—

"You watch me, my good monsieur, but you say nothing." Courfeyrac gazes coyly up at him, a sly, laughing smile on his face. "Does my mere appearance cause offense? If I could, I would change it, but this seems to be the extent of my natural gifts."

"Your appearance is fine, citizen, and I have found that most men can do a great deal with their natural gifts if only given the proper opportunities and motivation." He doesn't know how, but with his few sentences Courfeyrac has managed to dispel the unease that Enjolras had been feeling. "I was merely debating the merits of inflicting my poor dancing skills on you."

"I would very much like to have those skills inflicted on me." Holding out his hand, Courfeyrac raises both eyebrows. "If you would be so kind?"

Taking Courfeyrac's hand, Enjolras carefully positions their hands appropriately before starting to count out the beats of the music. It's a bit like practicing fighting, like going over fencing moves or sword fighting or canne de combat. All he has to do is find the rhythm and remember the order of the steps, and allow it to become second nature to his body.

"Enjolras, just _what_ are you thinking of?" Courfeyrac's fingers move from Enjolras' shoulder to caress the side of his face.

"Sparring." Enjolras can feel his face heating as Courfeyrac eyes him in disbelief. "It's the closest I've come to dancing in recent memory."

"Well, that would explain why you look like you're about to skewer me." Laughing, Courfeyrac returns his hand to its proper location. "But this isn't a battle, Enjolras. It's not a competition. It's… a conversation."

"And what am I trying to converse with you about?" He continues to guide them through the steps, though he can feel the rigidity and the awkwardness in the way he's moving now.

"At the moment you seem to be trying to tell me that you'd rather be anywhere but doing what we're doing." The smile fades a bit from Courfeyrac's face. "If you really do hate this, Enjolras, we can let it be. It's an idea that's supposed to give us a bit of fun, not be torture for you."

"I don't hate it." Watching Courfeyrac's feet, Enjolras allows another slight smile to break free. "Not like this. Not with you. You make it… comfortable."

"Then be comfortable, Enjolras." Courfeyrac's fingers brush his cheek again. "Be serious, if you must, but be comfortable."

He tries. He pays less attention to the beat, less to the steps, allowing his focus to remain on Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac's body tells him when he makes a misstep, helps him to keep the beat, follows easily and with apparent pleasure where he leads.

Eventually Courfeyrac's steps slow, and Enjolras follows his lead, bringing them to a standstill.

For a moment Courfeyrac leans his head against Enjolras' shoulder, obliterating the space between them. It's a comfortable, quiet moment, peace and stillness that Enjolras isn't used to having with Courfeyrac.

Then Courfeyrac straightens, pulls his hands away from Enjolras. "I thank you for the dance, citizen. And I must say that I was correct. You dance with elegance and grace when you give yourself leave to. I'm certain that everyone will thoroughly enjoy your company on Friday."

"So long as they play the single dance that I'm now somewhat familiar with, perhaps."

"Are you giving me leave to teach you more?" Courfeyrac grins widely, all pretext gone. "I may have to enlist some of the others to teach you the steps for a contradanse or two, if so."

"If you'd like, though not right now." Turning away from Courfeyrac with a reluctance that he hadn't expected to feel, Enjolras pulls out his desk chair. "I need to finish this article by tomorrow morning."

"All right." Courfeyrac settles back down on the bed again, managing to make room for himself to curl up without dislodging any of the stacked books. "Whenever you wish. I am at your service."

Nodding, Enjolras sets to scanning what he'd written before. He's almost picked up the thread of his argument when Courfeyrac speaks again.

"I may have to request a small fee for services as tutor, though."

"Oh?" Enjolras turns to look at his friend. "And what would that be?"

Courfeyrac's smile is soft, almost hesitant. "Save a dance for me."

Smiling, Enjolras turns back to his work. "Of course, Courfeyrac. Any time you want."


End file.
